Laughter Amongst The Corn
by wrestlefan4
Summary: OST showcasing friendship-how friends wrestle in the car rental office, put up with your odd behaviors i.e. driving naked, how they always help you through the rough spots, how they love you, but most of all-how they make you laugh. Flair,Piper,BHart.


_This takes place in 1999. I looked wiki'd it to make sure that the three of these guys all being together at some point in WCW was possible and to fit my story, 1999 works best so this is when this small glimpse into the lives of three of our most beloved wrestling personalities takes place. I hope you all enjoy this short offering. Roddy Piper, Ric Flair, Bret Hart. Does it get any better than these three? _

Laughter Amongst The Corn

The young man behind the counter was serious, his dark hair perfectly groomed back from his wide forehead. His equally dark eyes sat behind windows of thick spectacles which kept sliding down on his nose, equally as greasy as his hair. He glanced from the flamboyant blond, to the loud gentlemen in the middle, to the quiet one with graying hair woven into a braid. His eyes flicked back to the blond, who was going on loudly and dramatically. He was drawing a lot of attention to himself but did not seem to be bothered by that. His blue eyes were wide and his bleached hair fluffy and bobbing a bit as he spoke with body language that was as absurdly exaggerated. That particular adjective seemed to encompass the mans entire character, in fact.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I've told you we did not have your name or reservation in our system. We do have other vehicles available-"

The blonds face was so red it was nearly purple, his eyes bulging. He slammed both palms down onto the counter. The man next to him shook his head, his messy brown hair tumbling over his forehead.

"You're scarin' the poor kid!" The brunette pointed out, his green eyes turned sympathetically, apologetically, to the young man whose serious expression had not changed throughout the entire spectacle.

"He oughta be scared, Pipes! I had that Caddy reserved—I _had it reserved! _Listen here kid, d'you know who I am? D'you know this face? Come on I know ya seen this face before, and if you haven't then your Momma has and lemme tell you right now kid..." The blond pointed to his face, as if the ruby tone of it was not enough to highlight it. "When a lady sees this face, she don't forget it. Your Momma wouda told you about Ric Flair. All the ladies talk, they just can't help themselves. Now, I'm gonna tell you again. Ya gotta Caddy here for me, for _Ric Flair._"

"I'm sorry, Sir. As for my mother..." Now the brunette, who still had hold of the blondes arm, was waiting expectantly for what the young man had to say in regards to his mother. The beginnings of a big grin hung on the brunettes face, as if he was waiting for that zap that would cause the grin to go full blown. He seemed like the type who truly enjoyed humor, and the crinkles at the edges of his eyes were indicative that he liked to smile, and did so largely. "She's a lesbian."

"Ha!" The brunette cried, thoroughly amused that Ric had been shut down if not on the Caddy conquest, at least in the claim that he had boinked this kids mother.

Before the status of her sexuality had been deadpanned by her son, it would have been likely enough that she had ridden Space Mountain. Ric's conquests were innumerable and found throughout all parts of the globe. The brunette's whole face smiled, a very contagious look of glee which was passed on just slightly to the one with the braid. His flat line of lips curved up ever so slightly, the shadow of dimples just showing on his soft cheeks. The man behind the counter however, remained undisturbed by any of it. The grinning one deflated just a bit, and looked quizzically.

"That was funny. Aw come on...that was funny!" His goofy grin back, the one called "Pipes" patted the kids arm as if urging him, giving him permission to break character and smile at least. He looked legitimately let down when the kid refused to.

"I don't care!" Flair went on, gesturing wildly. "I don't care if your Momma likes men, if your Momma likes women, if your Momma likes a toothbrush—ALL MOMMAS like them some RIC FLAIR, WOO! And let me tell you somethin' else!" Here Flair, once more bug eyed and beet red, jabbed his finger at the air, in the kids general direction. "Ric Flair defies sexual orientation! Ric Flair defies the world!" There in the office of Rent-A-Car, Flair began to strut. Pipes was further disturbed that the kid remained gravely serious. The fact that anyone could remain not entertained by the likes of Ric Fucking Flair was a concept that Piper could not grasp.

The third man, Bret, just shook his head, his arms remained crossed over his chest, his posture in a wide legged stance, his mouth still giving away only the slightest hint of amusement. He looked tired.

"Listen kid, don't listen to that nut over there. We just want a car, it doesn't matter what kind it is as long as it-"

"IT DOES MATTER!" Ric bellowed. "I RESERVED—I'M RIC Fff—I DEFY! DE-FUCKIN-FY-"

"RIC—THIS KID DON'T CARE ABOUT NONE A' YOUR DEFILEMENTS. HE DON'T CARE IF YOU DEFILED HIS GAY MOM." It would not seem possible that one was capable of being louder than this Flair fellow, but his friend with the messy hair, indeed was louder. "I don't mean no disrespect to your Momma, kid. She ain't got nothin' to do with this here business. Now, what we need's a car. DON'T YOU LISTEN TO THIS LUNATIC OVER HERE." Pipes patted Ric's shoulder, and clapped a hand over Ric's mouth when the blond opened it to go on about how jilted he was that he could not have his beloved Caddy.

"As long as it runs, we'll take it." Bret put in, sliding a plastic card towards the still serious clerk. Even Bret who was known to be rather serious himself, was beginning to think there was something wrong with this boy. He glanced over his shoulder at Roddy and Ric, who were almost brawling now. Bret gave his information and filled out the appropriate paperwork, and was glad to be rewarded with a key to a vehicle. They had been in this damn office far too long by now.

"Come on jerks. We've got a car." Bret dangled the key on its foam fob over their heads—both men were on the floor, Ric's legs hooked in a vice-like grip around Rod's waist. Ric's fingers were hooked into Roddy's nostrils and pulled his nose up in away that distorted it and looked very painful. Roddy's eyes were squinted almost shut, his lips pulled back in a grimace. His elbows were up in the air as his arms reached awkwardly behind him, his hands groping for Flairs cauliflowered ears. He found them both at the same time, and twisted them both relentlessly.

"Gaaaah!" Roddy twisted harder, and Flair only laughed, his former anger drained out as he looked down at Roddy's distorted face. Flair was laughing so hard he was crying, and he let go of Roddy's nose and disentangled himself from Piper's body.

"Motherfucker!" Roddy groaned, rubbing at his abused nose. "You tryin' ta make my schnoz as deformed as yours, or what? That ain't right, Naitch. That just ain't fuckin' right!"

Flair wiped tears out of his eyes, and Rod picked himself up and snatched the keys from Bret's hand. His demeanor flashed back to boyishly happy, the goofy grin back in place and the yanked nose quickly forgotten.

"I'm drivin'!" He jangled the key and headed off into a random direction. "Where's the car?"

"No come on Pipes, I wanna drive!" Ric jogged to catch up with Roddy, and pried the keys out of his hand. "I always drive, I don't trust your lead foot!"

"_My_ lead foot?" Piper asked incredulously, his mouth hanging open.

Bret tagged along after Roddy and Ric, steering them both in the right direction as the two continued to banter on between themselves.

"I wanna know what I did to get stuck with the both of you." Bret joked, smiling just slightly, as he tried the handle to the back door.

"Unlock the damn car, Naitch." Rod instructed helpfully.

"Just a minute-hold your ponies, Pipes." Ric grinned at them both as he lingered at the trunk where they'd tossed their duffel bags and suitcases. Ric shrugged out of his perfectly taylored Armani suit jacket and laid it delicately in the trunk, atop the luggage. Next came the buttons of his crisp shirt, popped one after the other and then likewise tucked away.

"Oh nooo..." Roddy moaned. "No, no no. C'mon Ric...Bret don't wanna see your ol' ass I'm sure!"

"But you do." Ric crooned back, laughing as his undershirt came next and was tossed less carefully aside. Then with a quick unhooking and a fast whip of his wrist, his custom made leather belt zipped free of its tethering and dangled from his fist like a limp snake.

Bret's eyes grew wide with realization. His lips twitched at the corners, and not on the verge of smiling. He had heard plenty of tales of Ric's love for his birthday suit, and of course being a wrestler and sharing a locker room with other men for the majority of his life, he was not unused to the nude male form in all of its glory (or in some cases, lack thereof) but the idea of sharing a car with Flair driving in the buff was not appealing to him.

"Aw man, come on Ric. Don't do this." Bret turned away when Ric began to shimmy his hips in a provocative HBK-esque type of dance. Ric's pants slithered down his curvy legs, and gathered in a pile of unwanted fabric around his feet. Ric folded the pants and then tugged one of his loafers free.

"Ric, I really don't think ya oughta be drivin' like that." Roddy said, echoing Bret's opinion, though unlike Bret he had not turned away. Roddy scratched at his hair, his eyes darting away from Ric for only moments at a time, always drawn back again to his now nude figure, an unsure sort of smile lingering on his lips and a blush warming his cheeks. Roddy dropped his head and scratched at his ear, in a last ditch effort to keep his eyes on something other than Ric and Ric Jr.

"Oh, right." Ric said, leaning against the back bumper and replacing his loafer. "Suppose it would be kinda hard to drive barefoot." With a big grin, Ric closed the trunk, unlocked the doors, and climbed into the drivers seat of the car wearing nothing more than a pair of tall black socks and a pair of impressive alligator skin loafers.

"I just love the feel of leather interior cupping my fine ass." Ric wriggled happily in his seat, hands on the steering wheel.

"Oh, baby Jesus." Roddy muttered, as he ducked into the front seat and shut his door. Bret hunkered down in the back, sprawling comfortably in the back seat and averting his gaze out the back window. He had no intention of even accidentally catching a glimpse of their nude driver. There was something just _wrong_ about it.

"You sure you know where we're goin'?" Bret piped up from the backseat, as he watched the city pass them by, the airport diminishing behind them.

"Hart, this is Flair Country. This is the South, Pinky. I could be drunk, stoned, and unconscious-"

"Pretty sure that happened a few times in the seventies-" Rod cut in.

"And I'd still get us where we're goin'." Ric finished, with all the confidence in the world.

-x-x-x-

Hours later, the three men found themselves on back country roads that led them among long stretches of fields and trees. Bret was tired, his head uncomfortably rested against the glass and bumping at every jerk and pothole. Loose strands of his graying hair frizzed around his face, half of which was covered by one large hand. His legs were as stretched out as they could be, this sneakers resting against the opposite door. His long muscular limbs were unfit for comfort in such a manner, and his damn knee was nagging him fiercely, but it was the best he could do. At least he could close his eyes and listen to the banter and wild tales of his cousin and stitchless sidekick. The trip could not be described as boring, though it was becoming extremely time consuming.

"I guess I should know better by now than to question your almighty sense of direction, Flair, but ah...do ya think we might be just a little lost?" Bret ended his question with a yawn, and rubbed at his denim clad knee.

"Ric likes to take the scenic way around." Roddy said from the front, his head poking around the side of the chair so he could look at Bret. "Comfy back there?"

"Oh yeah, so comfy." Bret replied, glancing out the window and noticing a rusty silo ahead, it's circular mass familiar against the faded blue sky. The white paint was nearly eroded completely away from the gigantic rusted beacon. Scant patches of paint remained here and there, though it looked like that was peeling too, like white leaves curling up at the edges and ready to drop for autumn. "I have been dozing a little, but I know for a fact I've seen that silo more than once before." Bret tapped his finger against the back window, at the the silo.

Ric beamed, and pointed at the silo too. It approached them like an enormous decaying tooth up from the hard ground with its dead grass.

"Look kids, Big Ben!" Ric imitated Chevy Chases' character of Clark Griswald from that series of comedy movies.

An image flashed behind Bret's eyes. His brother was driving the car, his face a light with a grand grin of jest, his blond hair in that ridiculous mullet type style that he had worn since the age of four and up throughout most of his adult life. _Look kids!_ Owen's voice was as clear as if he were there, the familiarity of it like a knife stabbing Bret's heart with the deepest pain. _It's Big Ben!_ Owen gestured towards some building that they had passed multiple times. The younger Hart had always been fond of humor, jokes, anything to lighten the mood or coax out a laugh. He was rarely allowed to drive because his goofiness was not put on hold when he was behind the wheel. One thing Owen had been very fond of was to get lost on purpose in order to make a boring old drive more adventuresome, even if it was to take the caravan of wrestlers hours and hours out of the way. This was what Ric had done, and for moments it may as well have been Owen up there, but it wasn't. It was Ric Flair. It was just naked fucking Ric Flair.

"Pull over." Bret said in an odd sounding voice. He reached around the front seat, and squeezed Ric's bare shoulder. "Pull over." He repeated, his voice more choked this time.

Rod had turned around in his seat again and was looking at him with concern that Bret was embarrassed to have garnered. He was a private man and did not allow himself to get worked up easily but this he could not keep in check so easily. Since Montreal, since coming to WCW and finding it was a sinking ship, since Owen...Bret thought he had been ready to come back. Bret thought getting back to work would help him get his head straight. Wrestling was what he knew best. Wrestling had always been there for him. Wrestling had always been a constant in his life, and if he could just get back...but the truth was that his emotions and his heart were still in shreds. The truth was that he was about to lose it in the backseat of this damn car and Ric had better pull over.

The car came to a rather abrupt stop. The road was so deserted that Ric didn't even bother to pull off to the side, he just threw the gearshift into park and let the car take a break in the middle of the dirt road. Bret could not be out of the car fast enough. His stiff and cramped legs gave painful protests as he extracted himself from the car and made a quick walk away from it, into the nearby cut cornfield. His sneakers stuck with each step into the thick clay and the cuffs of his jeans brushed against the corn stumps left in ravaged rows. The autumn air was just cool enough to sting his eyes, even more so since they were overflowing with silent tears. He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket and kept going, coming to a stop at a belt of trees that marked the edge of the field and thickened up into a fair patch of woods.

For a moment Bret doubled over, palms on his knees, feeling as if he might be sick. His stomach ached with grief, with longing, such longing that he could hardly bare it. He clenched his teeth and pressed his lips tightly together, his eyes scrunched shut, working hard to hold back the sobs that wanted to burst his lungs. His tears continued hotly over his face, his nose dripping. He forced himself to take some deep breathes, trembling as he tried desperately to regain control of himself.

"What's he doin'?" Ric asked, bewildered.

"Maybe he had to take a leak." Roddy said, his usual raucous voice low and serious with concern. Both of them knew that Bret had not flown from the car and across the cornfield in order to take a leak. "I gotta go too." Roddy said. Both of them knew this was only a cover.

Roddy got out of the car and circled it a few times, giving his legs a good stretch and giving Bret a fair amount of time to compose himself before Roddy went after him to check on him. Rod knew that sound in Bret's voice, and he also knew that Bret was a man who valued his stoic exterior and would prefer not to be seen in such an emotionally vulnerable state. Rod made another loop around the car, lazily, watching the dry dirt from the road puff up with each step and filter down onto his boots which were becoming gray from the dust. He stopped at the back of the car in order to write something rather inappropriate in the dust, and then turned towards the cornfield. Bret had straightened up, but he still stood there, a small and solitary figure in an abandon field. Roddy's heart ached for him, as he imagined that the picture now before him must be rather indicative of the way Bret probably felt.

Rod's own eyes shown wetter than usual as he picked his way through the cut cornstalks, not hurrying. The wind picked up a bit and nipped harshly at his nose, and swept his hair around his face before it settled back down and left his locks in haphazard swooshes and cowlicks. Out of habit rather than necessity to tame the windswept look, Roddy ran his fingers through his hair, which even after the gesture remained just as untamed as the gust had left it. Bret sniffed as Roddy approached, the creaking sound of his boots and crackling sound of dried corn husks underfoot giving him away.

Bret glanced over to Roddy, who had approached the belt of trees, but remained at a fair distance away from Bret. Rod waved to him.

"Had to piss." Roddy explained, undid his pants, and found that he indeed had to. The arc of urine at least made his cover seem a bit more believable, and though Bret knew it for what it was, he was grateful at the attempt. Rod gave a little shimmy. "Gotta get the last drop." He laughed a little, though it seemed a bit uneasy, and fixed his pants up. After that was taken care of, and as if it were an afterthought rather than the real intent of his across field trek, Roddy closed the gap between himself and Bret, and rested his hand on Bret's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Roddy knew better than to say some fluff about how it would be okay, or how things would get better with time, or how Owen wouldn't want Bret to be upset, because any of those things true or not, it was all just stuff people said when they didn't know what else to say and wanted to try and make something better when they couldn't possibly do so with something as meaningless as words. As heartfelt or as hollow as they may be, they were just words either way. Roddy's compassionate eyes held Bret's gaze, a gaze which held a wavering strength, and an attempt at defiance that could not completely be mustered. Bret was worn. Bret was tired. Bret was fucking exhausted. Roddy hugged him briefly.

"I love ya, man." Roddy said, and it was from his heart and as true as could be. Roddy Piper never spoke a word he did not mean, and what he meant, he meant with ferocity that would never waiver, and never change.

"I..." Bret began, coughed into his fist to clear his throat, and started over. "I know." He said quietly.

Roddy patted Bret's cheek affectionately.

"Good spot to take a leak, huh"

Bret gave small half-smile.

"Yeah, great spot." He moved free of Roddy's close proximity, and started back towards the car. Bret glanced over his shoulder after a few paces, noting Roddy was standing still rooted to the spot and watching after him. "Come on Hot Rod. I'll race ya back to the car, we'll see whose the fastest gimp."

"What!" Roddy crowed, taking off after Bret. "That ain't fair, you gotta good lead on me!"

The two of them ran through the corn stumps back towards the car, Bret's knee declaring him mentally incompetent for the impromptu race, and Rod's hip grating irately. Bret having gotten the advantage of an unfair lead, reached the car first and grinned back at Roddy, panting a bit, as Rod made it the last few feet amongst a barrage of good-natured swear words.

"You...you fuckin' cheat!" Roddy slapped Bret's back heartily. "Between you an' that bastard Ric Flair playin' dirty, I don't gotta chance!" Roddy laughed, enjoying himself and even more—enjoying the amusement on Bret's face.

"I think I deserved that head start, at least!" Bret swiped strands of stray curls back from his face. "Ya fuckin' touched my face with the same hand you held your dick with to take a piss."

Rod doubled over with laughter.

"Ah shit, I did—didn't I?"

"Oh come on. You knew it!" Bret gave Rod a playful shove.

"Didn't, I swear!" Rod managed between bouts of laughter.

The car doors closed upon laughter, and it began again down the dirt road. Bret was sure Ric still had no idea where they were. Even still, Bret did not feel as lost as he had, and that was a good feeling.


End file.
